Carol of the Bells
by Rubber-duckiesofdoom
Summary: One-shot. Ron has been murdered on Christmas. Hermione tries to commit suicide, but is saved. Real tear jerker. Rated for suicide attempts and other stuff.


AN: Hey, lovely RR-ers (hint hint), this is my first song fic, to Carol of the Bells, which I love (even though, yes, I am Jewish), but always makes me sad. I don't know why. So here goes nothing, tell me what you think!

Carol of the Bells 

_Hark! Hear the Bells, Sweet Silver Bells,_

_All seem to say,_

_Christmas is here,_

Hermione silently weeped. Why, why? Christmas – the most magical, beautiful day. She has always loved it. Every year at midnight she would go out on the balcony at Hogwarts, and light a candle. As the candle melted, she would think of everything she was thankful for – her friends, her parents, and her life. But most importantly, Ron. Although he didn't know it, she had loved him since that time in first year, miles underneath Hogwarts, when he showed his true loyalty. The second he took that step so that Harry and she could continue on, for Harry to make it out of Voldemort's clutches for the second time, the step that even years later, she would wake up crying from a dream where he had not been so lucky with his recovery, she knew she would love him some day – every day. Her fights with Ron were sacred. She didn't enjoy it – she knew they were both stupid at times, but it gave her such a great feeling when they made up – to know they would always be together.

_To young and old, meek and the bold._

_Ding-Dong-Ding-Dong, That is their song,_

_With joyful ring, all caroling_

But now that was all gone. Tonight, Harry had destroyed Voldemort. Not killed, him destroyed. Hermione knew in her heart that Hagrid was right – to do such awful things, to so many people, simply for power. Any human, even Lucius Malfoy, would've felt a bit of remorse, at least in the beginning. But Voldemort had been truly evil.

However, for her, the world grew darker. Ron had given his life, so that Ginny could survive. He had stepped in front of the killing curse, pushed his sister over so that she couldn't be in the way at all. So that there was no way she could pull him out of the way. That very night, Hermione had made herself a promise. It was that she would tell Ron she loved him. She had known it would be her last Christmas at her home, Hogwarts. She had come to think of it that way at least. She loved her parents, but Hogwarts was where she really lived. The summer preceding sixth year had been a difficult summer for all of them – Harry had been suicidal, barely muttered any words, just spent all his time in Sirius' old room, crying and thinking. She had once caught him holding a knife to his wrist, but right before he made the cut, he started shaking violently and crying. He cried for Sirius, for the burden he had been born into. For his parents. When she had first whispered, "I'm home" her sixth year after the horrific summer, she had berated herself. This wasn't her home. It was her school. But she had found that it was her home. This was where she was calm, where she could think things over. This was where she felt safe, knowing Ron was always there to save her if she needed it, no matter what would happen.

So many died tonight, she knew. Neville, Luna, McGonagall, Susan, Ernie, Cho, Malfoy, Dumbledore. She could go on forever, listing the casualties Hogwarts had suffered. She would cry for them many a night in the future. Tonight, she cried for Ron.

One seems to hear, words of the cheer 

_From everywhere, filling the air,_

_Oh how they pound, raising the sound_

_Or here and there, telling their tale_

Smoke billowed past her. Hogwarts had been destroyed. It was physically there, she knew that. But in essence, no. It was not Hogwarts without the love that had resided there – the feeling of unity it had gained the past year. Even the Slytherins had lived in fear. They knew Voldemort had gotten to powerful, that not even they were safe. They knew that what Dumbledore had said all those years ago, about Dumbledore. The next, what the sorting hat had prophesized would be necessary. They needed trust, and when Snape had mysteriously been murdered, they knew they would need it now.

Her thoughts turned to Harry. She did not know where he was, what he was doing, or if he even knew what Ron had did. She shuddered. As ironic as anything so horrific could be, this was pretty far up there. She and Ron had been fighting about something stupid, she couldn't even remember what. No, that was wrong. She didn't want too. Ginny had just ran in to tell them that _they_ were coming. That we needed to hide. She had cried – Ron had spoken harshly to her, and she wished that they could just make up. Ginny roughly shoved them under a desk, and told them to keep quiet. She had admitted to herself that at moment, it was hard to remember why she loved Ron, he was so horrible to people sometimes. But her thoughts had been interrupted when they heard the door burst open. It was Lucius Malfoy, back for revenge on Ginny for what happened five years ago. Ron sprang out and tried to send a curse at Malfoy, but Hermione pulled him down. She told him to shut up, that Ginny always had a plan, that she was fine, she could get around Malfoy. He had a haunted look in his eyes, but sat down. Ginny and Malfoy dueled for a while, for Ginny had learned from Harry who was an expert, and almost met Malfoy's power. Almost. Finally, he had pinned her against the wall. He groped her breast, but she slapped him. He pulled out his wand to kill her, when Ron sprang up and pushed her down. Malfoy killed Ron instead. Ginny stunned him, and banished him to god knows where. Running out, she had cried in anguish when she saw his determined face. Leaning down, Hermione had kissed his lips, for the first and last time. They were already cold. She whispered into his ear "I love you" and ran out. She met Lavender on the way to fetch the knife that was clench in her fist this very moment. Lavender told me Harry had won – the war was over. I nodded and ran out. She didn't try to follow.

Gaily they ring, While People sing 

_Songs of the Cheer, Christmas is here_

Damn Christmas. Damn Voldemort. How could he do this – take the boys he loved most. She tripped on a snow-covered root, and fell down. Leaning back against the root, she began to sob even harder. She knew this was a stupid decision, but had left a note to Harry and Ginny, and given them instructions to owl her parents the note she had left on her bed. She knew they would all mourn, knowing Harry, he would yell. They would all be mad at her for doing this, for leaving them when Ron had left too. His two best friends, lost. He would be furious at the world, but she knew she could count on Ginny after she got a grip to calm him. This was necessary, she reminded herself. 'If I do not die now, I will die tonight, in my sleep. I will take a potion, stop eating. I will loose the will to live. This is the easiest way.'

On, on they send, on without end 

_Their Joyful tone, to every home_

_Hark! Hear the bells, sweet silver bells_

_All seem to say, Ding Dong, m'kay_

_On on they send, On without end_

_Their joyful tone, to every home_

_Ding-dong…. Ding-dong_

Slowly, she pressed the knife to my neck. Steel had never felt so cold.

Suddenly, a wind came out of nowhere. It pulled the knife out of her hand, sweeping it into the bushes, and pushed her onto her back. She saw a shooting star. And knew that this was Ron's star. She had cried herself to sleep many times after reading The Little Matchbox Girl – although it brought tears to her eyes, she knew it by heart. She told it again to herself, just the way her mother had told it to her.

_There was once a little Matchbox Girl._

Her mother would always begin

_She lived at home, with her father. They were very poor, and every day he made her go out and sell match boxes. Even in the winter, if she did not sell enough for his liquor, she would be whipped and hit. She used to have a grandmother whom she loved dearly, but she had died a year previously. On the dawn of her death, her grandmum had whispered to the crying girl that a shooting star means somebody in the world is dying._

_The girl was very cold, and huddled up in a alley. She had had a slipper somebody had given her, but a homeless boy had stolen it. Her feet were blue. So she took out one match at struck it. In its glory, she saw a beautiful Christmas tree, full of candles and glittering glass bobbles. But soon, it died out. Cautiously, she took another, for she was now very cold. Striking it, she saw a feast this time, full of all her favorite foods. When that candle died, she saw an odd thing in the sky. She recognized it for what it was for; a shooting star. It was the only one she would ever see. She allowed herself one tear for whoever was dying. She lit one last match, and saw her grandmother, beautiful as ever, holding out her arms. And she went to her grandmother._

_The next day a girl was found in that same alley, frozen cold. She had a look of utter bliss on her face, as they brought her to the morgue._

And quite suddenly she knew was trying to prevent her suicide. But she did not want him to. She pulled herself up to go and retrieve the knife, but the wind blew harder. It forced her to turn around and look at the beautiful oak she had planned to kill herself under. How she loved that oak. At it's roots, a single rose bloomed, and carving suddenly appeared on the tree that read:

"_Don't do this. Live the life I could not. Live it for me. Live it to the fullest. I love you."_

She dropped to her knees, and knew she could not do it. Slowly, she turned back to the castle, now filled once again, but it didn't have the same glow. But this time she told herself, "For Ron."

_Epilogue:_

_Hermione died thirty years later, murdered by Peter Pettigrew. Her grave was placed next to Ron's, under the oak where she had been given her reason for life to continue all those years ago. The words still remain on the beautiful tree. The rose is also still there, always in bloom, but now, it is entwined with another._

A/N: So whatta you think? Good bad? I dunno about you, but I think it's a tearjerker. Hell, I cried when I was writing it! I really love the Little Matchbox Girl, bye Hans Christen Andersen, so if you feel like a good cry, read it. Please review! I hope you liked it.


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